just another periodic book "review"

And we all know how well the last one went--damn you, Recover Post button!
***
The book:. It's called Donorboy and it's by Brendan Halpin, who has a website but it's not the most informative thing ever. Well, it doesn't suck; I guess I've just been spoiled by all the YA authors with blogs, LiveJournals, interactive games, maddening websites (on J.K. Rowling's site, where's the stuff for the scrapbook!?), etc. It's here, though, if you're still interested.
I haven't finished this book yet, but I trust it enough to not do something lame and/or downright crappy. I can usually see that sort of thing coming, which is why I stopped reading The Rise and Fall of a 10th Grade Social Climber, because I could feel it getting all Harriet the Spy on me, and I hated when Harriet's friends find her spy notebook. Which is why Li'l Jessy stopped reading that book, oh so long ago.
To get back on subject (I know, I know--why start now? It's like changing the whole blog), here's what you need to know about Donorboy, which also serves as why you should read it, in a conveniently numbered list:

1. "...see now when they ask what's hard about having two moms, probably the hardest thing is that when something is really really gay, like a grief journal, you can't say it's really gay, because that's like dissing my mom, who's dead..." This is on the 2nd page, people.
2. Rosalind's English teacher is Mr. Westerberg, and just when you've decided it isn't a Paul reference, her friend's mom is Ms. Cervenka.
3. It's epistolary, and journals, and IMs, and such. I hate when form used as a crutch for a novel that should never have been, but in the hands of a good writer, it adds so much. Like my future Jewish husband's second novel, for example.
4. Sean emails his friend about Ros sneaking out, and the email subject line is "Party all the time".
5. Sean is 35, Ros is 14, and the author captures so well that thing when a pop culture obsessed person is forced to interact with someone too young for all their references.
6. It's funny, it's sad, it's awesome.
7. Just read the damn book.
   

***
Another book I tried to read recently is (Boy Proof by
Cecil Castellucci). I was really looking forward to this one, seemed right up my alley, snarky nerdy girl, etc etc, but Egg is way too perfectionist for me. I just can't stand the kids who need to be the valedictorian, have the top grades, get nasty to any newcomer competition, and all that. So I went back to the Dark Tower, which I'm done with now, hence Sean and Ros.

book review, of a sort

If you don't want to read a young adult novel written by a guy who could write this, there's something seriously fucking wrong with you.
Here's a sample:

We invented I Will in college, but have since perfected it through hours of careful strategizing. The game begins when someone says, "I will," and then agrees to do a certain something for a certain sum of money. An example:
"I will," I say, "lick the cat for five dollars.""Four dollars," my friend Dean says."Three dollars," Will offers.And so on, until Scott takes a shot of tequila and runs his tongue across the entire length of our cat for a nickel...
Purchasing a large tub of Vaseline, a live lobster, and a 12-pack of condoms at the supermarket, and then announcing to the cashier, "Daddy's gonna have fun tonight" - one dollar, plus cost of said items.

up to the minute blog action

I just had something happen that I should have added to Wednesday night's list:

45. When I blush, it's almost always when I'm not actually embarrassed. I haven't figured out why this happens, but it's like shyJessy sneaks out for a second, realizes what I'm doing/saying, and makes my face all red. It's weird, because I always notice in this detached way, then wonder if I'm doing something maybe most people would be embarassed by.

My album's coming out on HugTown Records.

I'm terrifically bored right now, sitting at work on a Church Night here in my tiny library town. My brain is all fuzzy, from sitting outside in the sun and listening to the Runescape junkies next to me. I'm hoping that, as I type, I'll come up with something interesting to say, or at least my usual level of uninteresting. Maybe another story, like the blind date one?
No, I can feel it...here it comes...A Bunch of Things About Me, In No Particular Order (b/c I just want to be like Melissa, but several months ago):

1. I like bulleted lists. With or without numbers.
2. I actually LOVE all kinds of lists. I was reading my "free" issue of Real Simple the other night, and the only thing that saves this magazine from being utterly brittle and shrill, like a combination of Martha Stewart and Melissa Rivers, is their readers' tips section. This month, it was about saving time. My favorite 2 tips were the woman who keeps a card with useful random information like vacuum bag size, printer cartridge type, etc., in her purse (this is so fucking brilliant I can't stand it) and the woman who has made up a master sheet of common errands she has to run and grocery items she often needs. When she runs errands, she simply circles what she needs to do on a copy of the sheet.
3. Lists make me feel organized. I'm so utterly unorganized, that I need to force myself to make endless lists, systematically file things at work, and keep a day planner.
4. This doesn't make me any more organized than you; I'm just a fuck-up that tries not to be.
5. I'm also not really an extrovert. I'm a big ball of shy-assed goo that forces itself to not be.
6. Shy-assed goo with kick-ass shoes.
7. Hey! Rhyming on the list!
8. Running errands is one of my favorite things to do. Not only do I love getting things done and feeling accomplished (makes up for all those other Sundays I spend on my ass, watching Buffy DVDs and attempting to keep the cats away from the tortilla chips, or on my porch reading YA novels and attempting to keep the cats off the screen), running errands also involves making lists and checking things off said lists.
9. Just about everything I love about the summer happened last weekend. I went to a show, read some kinda overblown fantasy, had popsicles, danced like a goober, logged some crush time, drank crap beer, had a picnic, rolled down a hill, went to a cheap movie, drank too much coffee too late at night, had a rambling and somewhat coherent conversation sort of late at night on my porch, and went to the craft store.
10. At the craft store, I bought fake flowers (real fake) to wear in my hair. I'm totally rocking the flowers all damn summer long.
11. Saturday night I called my mom on someone else's phone, slightly drunk and very silly, to ask her if my parents still had the video Lara, this girl Jasmine, and I made lip-syncing and dancing to "Hangin' Tough".
12. The thing my mom says that irritates me the most is, "I don't mean to sound unsympathetic..."
13. The 2nd thing is, "Do it for me." This usually accompanies some kind of request to do something for my sister that I've been willing to do on my own for a long time.
14. I totally buy into that whole theory that says birth order is responsible for a lot of character traits.
15. While I smirk when the Girl Who Wears Half-Gloves To 80s Night is brought up, secretly I kind of wish I had rocked that, or thought up something equally as great. No one else does that shit, and no one probably ever will.
16. I really really don't like eleven year olds.
17. I find it frustrating when I have half the information I need. Like, there's an envelope for $$ and a bunch of raffle slips in the info desk drawer, and I have a note from the last staff meeting in my trusty work notebook (Nyanko Burger--I'm nothing if not professional) that says a quilt will be raffled off for Relay for Life (if you want to donate and sponsor me, somehow let me know), but I don't have anything that says when the raffle will be, or how much each chance cost.
18. Am I the only person who sees a similarity between the new looks of VOYA and Billboard magazines?
19. While I can be the meanest girl in the world when it comes to bad pickups, as my MySpace friends can now attest and some guy in a puka shell necklace found out Saturday night, I'm all over a good pickup line. They're just so damn few and far between, and the best one I've ever heard, I said.
20. It was, "Hey! Wanna see the picture of Iggy Pop where he looks just like Kim Gordon?" and then the book flipped right open to that page. Damn.
21. I want a tshirt that says "Who's Your Librarian?"
22. I also want one with a heart, a skull and crossbones, and the word Librarian. Not neccessarily in that order.
23. Here are some words I have trouble spelling: piece, neccessary, reccomendation.
24. The other night, I was bitching about how crappy my health coverage is because I have a $30 copay to someone with a $50 copay, so then I felt kinda schmucky.
25. I prefer salty snacks to sweet ones.
26. I still think Where the Wild Things Are has the best book ending, ever.
27. I still know most of the words to Madeline, and all of "Alligators All Around" from Really Rosy.
28. When I was a tiny little Jessy, my favorite Sesame Street muppet was Guy Smiley. My parents took us to see Sesame Street Live, and I cried because my boy wasn't in it.
29. I'm not sure what it says about me that, at 4, I loved a game show host huckster-in-felt, but whatever it is, I like it.
30. I wish Yoda was my neighbor.
31. I'm playing Alchemy right now while I think of other things.
32. I think of the dinosaurs at the Carnegie Museum as old friends, especially the triceratops skull and the brontosaur bone you can touch.
33. Slapstick is funny to me. I play like I'm a conscientious girl, and o! so grown up, but if you fall, I'll probably laugh. Of course, if I fall, I'll laugh harder.
34. At the show Saturday night, there was a kid in a Smashing Pumpkins shirt and it struck me that, had I worn my Pumpkins shirt out when I first started going to shows, I would have been so ostracized. Such is sceniness, I guess.
35. I love a good fantasy novel like almost nothing else, but I can't slog through Tolkien.
36. Loved the movies though, for the same reason I like YA historical fiction: someone else has done the work and the research for me.
37. If someone gave me a buttload of money and I had to either use it to either move to a better apartment or replace the cabinets and counter in my current place, I'd replace the cabinets and counter. Might use the extra to give my downstairs neighbors some etiquette lessons though.
38. 'Cause them throwing chicken at a hot girl to get her attention is never going to stop being funny to me, even as I'm kind of horrified by it.
39. I've moved at least once a year, including dorm rooms and back to my parents' house, since I was 17.
40. Right now, I'm rereading the first four Stephen (Steven?) King Dark Tower books so I can finally read the rest of the series and remember what's gone before.
41. I'm already planning how hermitty I'm going to be July 16 and 17. Nerdy, I know.
42. I read really fast.
43. I can't abide stupidity, but I also don't like when people act like their innate intelligence is some huge personal accomplishment. Your parents might be able to say that, but I think a lot of it's just out of a person's hands. I read this short story when I was in high school and a kid in it said that being proud of his intelligence would be like being proud of his arm: it's always been there, and he didn't do much to put it there.
44. I don't remember the name of the collection this was in, but I think it was award-winning stuff written by teenagers.

OK, I've rambled on long enough here. To Gem Drop!

every now and then I fall apart

Have I outgrown Conor Oberst?
I checked I'm Wide Awake It's Morning out of my library (and yes, I'm the one that ordered it, too--it's hard to judge what buzz people in this town pay attention to, but there was just so damn much around this record). I listened to it this morning when NPR started to repeat. I don't know, I just found myself getting really impatient with it. First off, what's up with his monologue starting off the first track? I know part of my issue was with the fact that I had just put in the music cd because I didn't want to hear talking, and another problem is that, in just about any non-9-11 plane crash-related anecdote, that part of Mallrats starts playing in my head. This was a real problem when I first watched Almost Famous, what with Jason Lee actually being in it and all. But, c'mon Conor: less talk, more rock.
I have no patience with Conor talking on his albums because I'm one of the stupid, stupid people who bought Fevers and Mirrors on record. Seriously, people, don't make the same mistake I did. There's this whole fake college radio interview in the middle of it that's funny the first time you hear it, because it is so totally dead-on, but after that, you just want to get back to the music. But you can't, because it goes on forever. And you have it on record, so you can't just jump to the next track without actually getting up off your lazy ass. Also, I can't quite remember, but I want to say the "interview" is not only buried in the album side, it's also buried in a track.
I've always thought record reviews should also tell you what format is best for an album. Spin sort of does this, with the "download, buy, etc." column. Do they still do that? Or like, driving records used to always be best on tape, which is why I've never owned any Cure cds, and why my copies of It's a Shame About Ray and the Rushmore soundtrack were cassettes. Someone else owns all of them now...
***
With apologies to Tiff for accidental plagiarism or repetition.
I think the real thing with me and Bright Eyes is that they're one of the few bands that were so much about a particular time and place in my life that, even with the new stuff that comes out, my first reaction is nostalgia, not actual objective listening and possibly enjoyment. I hear Billy Corgan in any context, and I'm instantly 15 again, going to see Smashing Pumpkins at the Beaver Community College Epcot Center-lookin' thing with Cheryl Rosenfeld. It's like I have a block against thinking about or feeling anything else. Likewise, I hear Conor's voice and it's like a time machine back to the year after college. This is probably part of my Bright Eyes problem because, if you're anything like me, that first year after college graduation is one of the last years you want to relive, or be nostalgic about. Now add temping, Coffee Tree Roasters, and an ass-faced roommate, and you're where I was. I can still listen to A Collection of Songs Written and Recorded 1995-1997 and enjoy it, but only after a walk down mental health denial letter memory lane. And that walk is even crappier than the one from my bed to the record player to skip the fake radio interview, believe you me.
Of course, Bright Eyes also makes remember the show at Roboto, where Conor knocked either his lap steel or his keyboard over (I don't remember which) and Tiff, Cindy, and I pretended to be 1960s model drawings (we did this a lot Spring-Summer 2001) and we saw deer in Schenley Park afterwards. Oh, and Conor asked if anyone had a place he could crash and every girl looked so hopeful, and simultaneously as scary as my cousin's brand-new sister-in-law when the bouquet was thrown at her wedding. At least, I think that was all at the same show. Times when the 3 of us acted like asses in front of Roboto all tend to blend together.
Her rock had been blinding me all day long, but she still needed to catch those damn flowers.
Maybe Conor's just too earnest for me anymore. And he's not self-mocking enough to make up for it, like all my other favorite desperate boy singers.

Is it just me, or is the second half of the Kaiser Chiefs record decidedly Blur-esque? Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course, though if I was listing my favorite British bands, there are several ones higher up than Blur.

UPDATE! May 23: So last night Melissa, Bryan and I were rocking some Trivial Pursuit and some Collection of Songs... At a particularly emotional point (in the cd, not the game), Bryan exclaims, "Oh my god! Is this guy getting stabbed or something!?"
And I think that just about ends my discussion of Bright Eyes. Couldn't have said it better myself, sir.

Up and at them!

Oh, who’s pissed and confused and suspicious? More so than usual, I mean. Lemme tell you a story...this is definitely not one of the perks of being a librarian…

I do a lot of classroom visits at the junior high and high school. They’re great, because they make my statistics look fantastic, I give people good books, and generally promote the library. I’m like DuffMan, except with less pelvis thrusting. Not much less, though. The teachers have always seemed happy to have me come in, sometimes even grateful that I’m promoting reading, stuff to do in town, etc. And I really love doing them. It’s possibly my favorite part of the job, other than buying comic books on the library’s dime. Class visits are also good because not only are they a captive audience, that audience is full of all kinds of kids, kids who are regular patrons to those who never come to our library to those who didn’t know I got hired and had given up hope of our little library ever having anything they want.
That last one is no exaggeration. I’ve had that conversation with a kid, who then recommended the Garth Nix Sabriel etc. series to me.
When I do class visits, I open the outer door to the high school, reflect on how schools must all use the same disinfectant or something, because they all have the same weird smell, ring the bell, and a disembodied crackly voice tells me to come in. At that point, I go to the secretaries’ office, as that is the rule. However, there’s really nothing stopping me from not signing in first, because everywhere I go in the school is down the opposite hallway. I could be sneaky, or lazy, but I’m not. I’m a good girl.
Usually, what happens after I head into the office is I say, “I’m here for/to visit [insert either librarian or teacher’s name],” and one of the three secretaries hands me a visitor’s badge and the sheet to sign in on. It’s always the same one of the 3 secretaries, no matter what the other 2 may be doing, no matter whether or not I have to wait for this specific secretary to, say, get off the phone. They’re never particularly friendly, but they’re high school secretaries—I don’t think friendly is part of the job description. Certainly not as high up as competent or suspicious of everyone. They’ve never been particularly nasty or obnoxious either. They’re high school secretaries: they’ve got a lot of shit going on, and I’m interrupting that. I understand.
Here’s what happened this time when I walked into the office, set down my box o’ junk (summer reading prizes, library propaganda, books to push*, etc.), and say, “I’m here to visit Ms. A and Mr. B.” First of all, the only secretary in there today was the one who never ever acknowledges my presence. After her usual beat or 2 that I wait while she seems to be doing no discernable task (but hey, what do I know? She could have 6 things going on, or at least more than I’ve got right now, typing this), she comes to the counter and asks what the visits are about.
This has never happened before. Usually, I get the badge, and go on my way, la la la. So I say, “I’m from the library,” thinking, just like all the other times I’ve visited this year.
“I know that. What are you visiting about?”
“Um, summer reading program?” I’m kind of flustered at this point, like, am I in trouble?
She explains that they don’t allow class visits, at which point I bring up the fact that I’ve been doing this all goddam year long. Therein follows a secretary-principal conversation I’m not privy to. Then she comes out again, tells me I’m allowed to visit the library, but not individual classrooms, school policy or rules or some thing like that. I repeat that I’ve been doing this since fall. I ask to speak to the principal, using my best “customer service has pissed me off” tone: my mommy taught me well. Another secretary-principal conference, shorter this time, and then I’m told that he is very busy, but that I can call later if I’d like.
I ask if I can at least go explain to the Ms. A, who is expecting me any minute, that I won’t be there, but, “She’s in class right now.” No shit. She’s in the class that she probably doesn’t have a full period’s work for, since she scheduled a visit with me over a month ago.
These are not new teachers, for the most part. And I’ve visited all but one of their classes before, sometimes multiple classes. Who else thinks there’s something very Canadian going on here?

*The book I was really looking forward to pushing is the first Midnighters book by Scott Westerfeld. It’s about how there’s actually an extra hour in every day, and this town where almost everything freezes in that hour, and these kids that run around in it. Good stuff, and I don’t normally like this sort of thing. I really want to read #2, but I’m a good little librarian and don’t want to order it for the teenhole until I know I’m not the only patron who cares. Therefore, take it to class visits to develop an audience.

You were racing in a car beside a boy you just don't know

(remember when I was all like, I'm gonna review books here? Well, here we go...)
Prom by Laurie Halse Anderson

Anderson has written 3 other YA books, and I've read 2 of them. I HATED Catalyst, for a bunch of reasons I don't remember any more. The main character was too selfish and whiny, I think. And not just normal selfish and whiny. Part of it, too, was that I've always always disliked perfectionists. You know, the kids who cry if they don't get a 4.0. The valedictorians who go nuts. This girl only applies to, Harvard, I think, and then I believe the readers are supposed to feel sympathetic when she doesn't get in and is therefore screwed. Of course, I only applied to one school as well, but it was a fairly easy school to get into, and I was a year younger than normal, and the tuition remission and all that. There's a huge difference between only applying to Pitt and only applying to Big Fancy Ivy. Also, I'm sick of books where there's a supporting character who's a poor kid with all these problems but the main character finds that person's heart of gold and learns something, and that's pretty much what I got out of Catalyst.

--Work related interruption: I may have to throw those 2 kids out. It's too nice out for them to be that stircrazy inside. Go run around outside, dammit!--

Fever 1793, or some such year, I haven't read, but I used to confuse it with Running Out of Time by Haddix, which I have read, and which is great, and is the book that people have accused Shamalan of ripping off with The Village. I don't think he did, any more than EdTV (that was the name of that movie, right? Matthew McCaughnahy, who I need to stop bringing up in my blog?) ripped off The Truman Show. The central idea both had can be done so many ways.

Then there's Speak, which is really good and powerful. It's about a 9th grade girl who, right before school started, went to a party and got raped by a big popular upperclassman. She stops speaking (hence the title). It's something that could be so heavyhanded and pre--

I wrote this whole huge thing and was on a roll and accidentally clicked "recover post", leading me to lose over half my goddamn post, so, suffice to say, Prom's a good, funny book for lots of reasons that are now lost to the stupid fucking internet.
Hate.

that's what I want

Hey! I'm on my library's American Cancer Society Relay for Life team. People should donate $$$ to me, because it's a damn good cause. Now, we all know that I kind of half-assed try to pretend it isn't obvious where I live, but I'm not going to bluntly blurt it out here. If you're interested in donating money through me, email me at likeabookishcoco@yahoo.com and I'll send you the link.
Here's some general Relay for Life info, in case you're like me and when you first heard about it, the "for Life" part made you think "anti-choice".
Thanks so much, everybody!!

my collating style is unstoppable

Some people save lives. They cure cancer, or I think about the people that keep planes from crashing. (OK, it's been a long time since my last Mallrats viewing. This is supposed to reference Doherty's breakup speech to Jason Lee. Sorry.) Some of my greatest talents? I can identify any Brady Bunch episodes within the first 15 seconds, just about. I can find you a story, in some format or another, you'll enjoy. I also make one hell of an amateur stylist/personal shopper. I have no problem bravado-ing my way through just about any social situation and/or home improvement project. And I kick ass at repetitive menial tasks.
Seriously. Ever notice how quickly I type remarkably similar numbers into a computer, over and over again?
31912 this is the beginning of every item barcode at the Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh
11912 this is the beginning of every patron barcode at the Carnegie
29205 patrons where I am now
392050 items where I am now
And I suspect, if I really tried, my fingers could still remember the first 5-7 digits of the University of Pittsburgh barcodes, something I haven't needed to know since May 2000...31735. Told you.
Janice and I used to talk about trying to "race" the copiers at our individual student administrative assistant jobs, trying to flip to the next journal page and smash down the bound journal before the light under the glass went away, trying to keep the beat steady. If I get cancer, and it's not lung cancer from the 68D and 67F, not to mention all of the trucks on their way to 376, or second-hand smoky 80s nights, it will be caused by years of making copies with the lid up.
My temp jobs didn't bring out my talent nearly as much as one might think, except when I was working on my trading cards. A coffee house job, on the other hand, is tailor-made for me. I loved the act of grinding, pressing, steaming, etc., especially once I mastered foaming milk. Sometimes I still kind of miss the actual making coffee drinks part of the coffee job. Anyone want to buy me a commercial espresso machine? Setting it up in my kitchen sounds like one hell of a home improvement project for me to bluster through.
With Kinko's, my talent hit paydirt. NOTE: this was nowhere near enough to keep the job from sucking. However, the moments when I was in the back, not having to worry about punkass customers, collating or binding, folding or stapling, were probably when I hated Kinko's the least. One Sunday I stapled hundreds of 1/4 sheet sized booklets using a stand-up saddle-stapler, perfectly content and at quite a pace. This was also, I believe, the hungover Sunday I discovered that my hangover breaking point is not small poorly disciplined children running around a public library, but Simply Red. Really, a career-making point in Jessy's life.
Why bring all this up now, other than because it's a slow-ass Wednesday night and I don't feel like doing a home visit recap or playing Alchemy? Because I think I've finally come to terms with the fact that I'll never be able to plie, or perform open heart surgery, or have a gallery in New York (or screech about having a gallery in New York while pouring beer on my head--jury's still out on my dream of being someone else's Christian Joy, though). But I'm damn good at collating, and I was doing some of that earlier today.
The thing about repetitive mindless tasks is that, while your hands are doing the same thing over and over again, your mind gets to wander. This is perfect for a beer label peeling, fingernail munching, where'd my embroidery go girl like me. And today, as I was putting together summer reading program propaganda, all this is what I was thinking about.